


NOT WITHOUT YOU

by rubyelf



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyelf/pseuds/rubyelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for some story exchange or other. Everyone believes that Aragorn must be dead... except Legolas, who can't give up until he knows for sure. No warnings for character death, soooo...</p>
            </blockquote>





	NOT WITHOUT YOU

“Legolas,” Gimli said, touching the elf’s arm. “We must go.”

Legolas shook his head, refusing to step away from the edge of the cliff. “No.”

“We can’t stay here, and you know it. Those beasts will be back, and…”

The blue eyes turned to focus on the dwarf for a brief moment before looking away. “You go. Go with the others to Helm’s Deep.”

“And what exactly are you going to do?”

Legolas glanced down at the pendant clutched in his hand. “I’m going to find him.”

“Have you gone mad, elf?” Gimli demanded. Then, seeing the elf’s face harden, his tone softened. “He’s gone. If you go out looking for him, these creatures will find you, and then we will have lost two warriors this day.”

“I don’t care.”

Gimli crossed his arms. “Well, then, I’m going with you.”

This finally drew the elf back to himself for a moment, and he smiled sadly and shook his head. “No, you’re not. I’ll push you off the horse.”

Gimli looked over the edge of the cliff again. “No one survived that fall, Legolas. If you go after him, I fear you won’t come back.”

Legolas shrugged and rubbed the pendant between his fingers. “I have to try. Even if he’s dead, I have to find him. At least that way I can be certain.”

“Legolas…” the dwarf said, patting the elf’s arm. “You are immortal. You knew he would leave you sooner or later. And you know that he was never to be yours anyway… you hold the evidence in your hand as we speak. Perhaps as an unknown Ranger he felt you were worth the risk, but once we reach Gondor it will not be so. He is to be king, and she will be a fine queen.”

Legolas glanced down at Arwen’s gift before tucking it carefully into his pocket. He grasped Gimli’s hand and shook it.

“Yes, she will. Farewell, Master Dwarf. Much as it pains me to say so, I am glad to have known you.”

Gimli’s eyes narrowed, realizing what lay beneath the words. “You don’t intend to come back, do you. If you find him dead.”

“I don’t know, Gimli. I won’t know until I find him.”

He whistled, and Arod trotted toward them, still wild-eyed and jittery from the fight and the presence of the wargs, but as soon as Legolas laid a hand on him he stilled and pressed his head against the elf’s chest.

“You’re not really going to leave me to put up with these damned men and hobbits on my own, are you?” Gimli tried one more time. He knew it would have no effect; the elf’s eyes had gone pale blue and distant as the sky.

“You’ll be all right, Gimli. Watch out for yourself.”

He grasped Arod’s saddle and swung himself up easily. The horse raised his head, alert to the strange tension in his rider’s body, and Legolas stroked his neck soothingly for a moment before taking up the reins and urging the horse forward, leaving Gimli to watch him ride away.

“Master Dwarf?” one of the soldiers of Rohan asked, approaching him where he stood. “Where is the elf going? And where is the man who rode with us?”

“I expect we will not see either of them again,” the dwarf said grimly. “But there is no time for that now; we must move on to Helm’s Deep.”

 

Dusk had fallen by the time the elf and his horse had ridden far enough to find a place where it was possible to reach the riverbed from the cliffs above. Even so, Arod still had to scramble and shift his hindquarters to keep his footing as they slid over the steep, rocky slope, and the horse was wild-eyed and soaked with sweat by the time they reached the bottom. Legolas felt his mount’s weariness, but there was no time for rest now; if by some twist of fate Aragorn was still alive, he would not be for long, not after dark if he was injured and had no fire. He spoke a few words of encouragement, but was interrupted when Arod suddenly tossed his head up and neighed loudly, a cry of excitement and welcome that could only be meant for someone familiar. Legolas turned in the saddle and saw a dark horse trotting toward them, wearing a leather halter and trailing a rope. The white star marked him as a horse Legolas had seen before, in the stables of the Rohirrim; it was Brego, the horse that had belonged to Theodred, the one Aragorn had asked Eowyn to set free.

Brego stopped for only a moment to touch his nose to Arod’s, and then he was off again at a brisk trot, heading upstream. Arod tugged at the reins, eager to follow his companion, and Legolas have him his head and allowed him to set off after Brego in the gathering twilight.

 

A man’s eyes would not have been able to make out the dark shape huddled on the sandy riverbank with only moonlight to illuminate it, but Legolas saw it immediately, and Brego was already moving toward it, breaking into a quick canter. Legolas jumped from his horse, stumbling as his feet sank into the loose sand, and ran to reach the still figure.

“Aragorn!”

He kneeled quickly and pressed a hand to the man’s face; there was still warmth there despite the cool night air. He felt Aragorn’s breath against his palm as the man exhaled. Brego touched his nose to Aragorn’s cheek and glanced at Legolas as if demanding to know what he was going to do about the situation.

He’s alive, Legolas thought to himself, as he rose to untie his bedroll from Arod’s saddle. How can he be alive, after a fall like that? The Valar must have intervened on the man’s behalf…

Of course they had intervened, he realized, shaking his head. They had intervened so Aragorn could take his throne and wed Arwen, uniting the races of elves and men and continuing the line of kings.

He unrolled one of his blankets and kneeled by Aragorn again, careful as he moved the man. As he wrapped the blanket around the still form and rose to his feet, shifting to balance Aragorn’s weight in the soft sand, the man murmured something unintelligible and his eyes flew open, staring blankly.

“Shh. It’s Legolas. You’re hurt, Estel. Don’t move.”

He rarely if ever called Aragorn by the name that his family used for him, but it was a term of endearment, and Aragorn closed his eyes again and relaxed against the elf’s body. Legolas carried him away from the riverbank until he found a sheltered spot against the cliff and under a heavy canopy of trees. He feared that building a fire would draw unwanted attention, but at least with the cliff at his back he would only have to watch ahead instead of behind as well. He gathered some wood and, working quickly, soon had a small fire blazing. The two horses came closer, stepping into the circle of light as if seeking comfort from it, as Legolas unwrapped the man and could finally see him well enough to examine his injuries. He was half-drowned, clearly, soaking wet and shivering, but there was also a deep gash in his shoulder and another one across the side of his head, from just over his eyebrow back into his dark hair. The skin was split nearly to the bone, and Legolas realized that if the man hadn’t been so chilled the wound would have bled much more severely; perhaps even the Valar had needed to make compromises to enable him to survive the lethal fall. The wounds were full of sand and mud from the river, but before he could tend to them the elf had to make sure there were no other, more urgent ones. His fingers made quick work of the buckles and ties of the man’s clothes and pulled them away from the wet skin. As he stripped him he found massive bruises still darkening under the pale skin, leaving few parts of the man unmarked, but his careful touch detected no unusual swelling or angles that might have indicated a broken bone, and when he pressed his fingers into Aragorn’s abdomen, the man muttered and turned his head but didn’t seem to be in pain, reassuring Legolas that perhaps he had escaped any internal injuries.

“Watch him,” he said to the horses, in Sindarin. He was fairly certain that Arod understood it, and Brego showed no signs of abandoning Aragorn, so the elf left them and went back to the river to fill his water skin. He had to make several trips to bring enough water to wash the man’s bruised body clean of sand and dirt and to rinse his dark hair clean of leaves and mud. His last trip filled the skin again, this time to pour into the small cooking pot he carried in his pack and set on a rock by the flames. He retrieved his other blanket and wrapped Aragorn in it before hanging the other one over a branch to dry, then settled himself down at the man’s side and turned his attention to the gash on his head.

“I am not a healer, Estel, and it would be most helpful if you would wake up and participate in your own treatment.”

To his surprise, Aragorn’s eyes opened again, this time with recognition in them. “Legolas?”

The elf grinned. “Aragorn. Do you know where you are?”

The man frowned, thinking, and then shook his head. “I don’t… I remember leaving Edoras. And then the river. That’s all.”

“You have a bad gash on your head. You must have hit it fairly hard.”

Aragorn shifted gingerly. “It feels like I hit everything fairly hard. What happened?”

“You don’t remember going over the cliff?”

Aragorn’s eyes widened slightly. “The orcs… on wargs. I fell?”

Legolas nodded.

“Hmm. No wonder I feel so bad.”

He tried to sit up, but sank back down, wincing in pain.

“Be still,” Legolas said. “I’m not sure where else you might be hurt. Are there herbs nearby I could gather for you?”

“We’re near a river, so willowbark should be easy to find… that will make a tea to ease some of the pain. And there’s certain to be horsetail around… it can be used to stop bleeding and help wounds heal. And if you see any burdock leaves, they can be used to help bring down swelling and bruising. There’s nothing else I’d ask someone not trained as a healer to look for, and you wouldn’t be likely to find them down here anyway. If you can’t find anything else, the willowbark…”

“Aragorn, I am an elf of Mirkwood, if you remember correctly. I am not totally unfamiliar with trees and herbs.”

Aragorn smiled. “True. I forget how many talents you have.”

Legolas rose and walked quickly off among the trees growing between the riverbank and the rocky cliff. Arod raised his head from dozing and watched him with some concern.

“It’s all right, my friend. I’ll be back. Look out for Aragorn.”

He had very little difficulty locating a willow tree and stripping some of the inner green bark, and with a bit of searching was able to find some of the odd little spikes of horsetail, but it took some time to locate a patch of burdock and harvest a few large handfuls of leaves. When he returned to the circle of light cast by the fire, Aragorn did not react to his arrival, and he had a moment of alarm before the man blinked and looked up at him.

“Oh… there you are. I think I dozed off.”

“You need rest,” Legolas said, retrieving the pot of water from the fire and sitting down next to the man. “I would sweeten the willowbark with something if I had time to find something suitable.”

Aragorn chuckled. “I’m not a child, Legolas. I can take bitter medicine.”

As the tea steeped, the elf’s hands worked quickly, spreading the burdock leaves over the worst of the bruises, many of which were deep purple and ugly. He used the horsetail to treat the wounds to Aragorn’s head and shoulder. The man drank the bitter tea with only an occasional grimace, knowing it would ease some of the throbbing pain that was spreading through him as the adrenaline of the fall faded and his body began to take stock of its damages. Legolas watched him with amusement.

“I do believe you made that more bitter than it needed to be,” the man complained.

“I exist only to torment you, Aragorn.”

“What happened to the others? After the fight?”

“They rode on to Helm’s Deep. I assume they made it successfully. We killed enough orcs to deter them temporarily, at least.”

Aragorn glanced over at the elf, who sat beside him, staring into the fire. “Legolas?”

“Yes?”

“What made you come down here looking for me? I’ve been looking up at that cliff… I don’t know how I survived the fall, but everyone must have assumed I didn’t.”

Legolas shrugged. “I had to know for certain, that’s all.”

Aragorn smiled and reached out to grasp the elf’s hand for a moment before a yawn overtook him.

“You should sleep, Aragorn. We’ll go nowhere until the sun is up, and then only if you’re well enough.”

He sat for a long time after the man had fallen asleep, watching the fire crackle. The red-hot glow of the coals could not have burned his pale skin more fiercely than did the small jeweled pendant in the pocket of his tunic. Seeing the horses standing on the other side of the clearing and knowing their keen senses as prey animals would alert him if anything approached, he leaned back against a tree and let himself drift into the light half-doze that passed for sleep among elves, hoping it would hasten the approach of dawn.

He woke to the orange streaks of sunrise reflected off the surface of the river and the two horses grazing quietly at the edge of the trees. He turned quickly to check on Aragorn; the man still slept, but a look at the wounds on his head and shoulder assured him that there was no more bleeding and no inflammation. The bruises from the day before had darkened to a livid range of maroons and purples and dusky blues all over the man’s body, but as Legolas carefully unfolded the blanket covering him he did not see anything to indicate any injury deeper than ugly contusions.

“Hmm?” Aragorn muttered, blinking. “Legolas.”

“How are you?”

“Sore,” he admitted. “But alive, somehow. And no small thanks to you, my friend.”

“Only the Valar could have allowed you to survive that fall.”

“Perhaps. But I wouldn’t have survived the night lying wet and unconscious on the riverbank with my wounds dirty and bleeding. If you hadn’t come for me…”

He grasped the elf’s hand again, as he had last night, and this time the pale blue eyes met the man’s stormy gray ones. Aragorn did not release the elf’s hand, but kept it clasped in his own as the studied each other.

“You could have been killed riding down here alone to search for me.”

Legolas shrugged. “That’s not important.”

“Of course it’s important. The others thought I was dead, obviously, or you wouldn’t have come alone. Why put yourself in danger to find me if…”

“I told you. I had to know for sure. That’s all.”

Aragorn gingerly eased himself up on his elbow so he could look the elf more closely in the eyes.

“Tell me why, Legolas. You’re not telling me something… I can see it. I’ve known you too long, my old friend. I can tell when you’re holding back.”

“You have known me a long time,” Legolas said slowly. “And that makes what I hesitate to tell you even more difficult to speak aloud.”

Aragorn seemed to stop breathing for a moment, and the elf swore the man’s eyes widened just slightly.

“If you cannot speak it aloud, Legolas, then tell me another way.”

Part of the elf’s mind insisted that Aragorn could not possibly know what he was thinking, but the larger part of it didn’t care; soon they would ride to Helm’s Deep, and from there no one knew, but the chances of him ever having another moment like this were very slim, and he would not waste it, not this time. He leaned in, raising his free hand to press the smooth palm to the man’s rough cheek as he kissed him.

He expected Aragorn to jerk back in horror or disgust, but the man froze for a moment, then turned his face into the kiss, mouth seeking a better angle of contact until their lips were joined, tasting each other, and then the elf’s tongue flicked out and the man’s lips parted eagerly, his mouth warm and welcoming.

Finally driven apart by the need to breathe, they leaned back to look at each other, eyes meeting once again. Aragorn’s were wide, stunned, and Legolas was suddenly struck by a realization of what he had done.

“Estel,” he gasped, and pulled away from the man.

Aragorn frowned, confused. “Legolas? What is it?”

The elf reached slowly into the pocket of his tunic and withdrew the pendant on its silver chain. He held it up, watching as it caught the early morning light and reflected it as it hung in the air between them.

“Take it,” Legolas said. “It’s yours.”

Aragorn nodded, and his hand rose and closed around the pendant, but his eyes did not leave the elf’s.

“Legolas, I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I know about  you and Arwen. I know you don’t desire… other males. I know…”

To his surprise, the man grasped him by the tunic and pulled him closer, kissing him again, this time with a demanding hunger that washed all thoughts from the elf’s head and left him dizzy.

“Estel, we can’t…”

Aragorn stared at him. “But you… isn’t this..”

Legolas sat back, trying to clear his head. In all the many times he had imagined this moment, never had he dared to think that Aragorn would return his desire. Turning away from the man, he scrambled to his feet darted away among the trees. The two horses raised their heads to watch him go, and Brego gave a soft nicker of concern, but Arod nudged him reassuringly.

Legolas ran until he realized he had left Aragorn unattended, but even then he couldn’t bring himself to go back yet. He slumped to the sandy riverbank and laid back, looking up at the brightening sky. In thinking of his love for Aragorn he had never considered the possibility that Aragorn might actually have the same feelings for him, and while he had imagined every possible scenario of rejection, he had never contemplated what might happen if his confession was met not with rejection, but with desire.

He heard hooves shuffling through the sand and tipped his head back to find Arod looking down at him.

“I don’t need to be looked after,” he said.

The horse snorted.

“Maybe I do,” he admitted wearily. “It seems I’m not making very good decisions on my own at the moment. What have I done?”

“You saved my beloved’s life,” a soft voice murmured, close to his ear.

He sat up quickly, looking around, but there was no one but the horse.

“Legolas,” the voice said again, and he recognized it this time.

“Arwen?”

Soft laughter. “When I could not be there for him, you were there to save him.”

He closed his eyes. “Arwen, I…”

“Hush, Legolas. I know. I’ve known of his feelings for you for a long time.”

“But why…”

“I would not have shared my beloved with just anyone who caught his eye,” she said gently. “But if were not for you, he would not be mine to share, for he would be gone from this world and lost to me forever.”

Legolas frowned. “I only wanted to…”

“You wanted to make certain that if there was even the slightest chance he had survived, you would be there to help him. And if he hadn’t survived?”

“I don’t know.”

He felt a delicate hand brush across his cheek. “I have spoken to him, Legolas. Go back to him. All will be well.”

“Arwen?”

He realized that she was gone. Wondering if elves went mad and whether it could possibly be happening to him, he rose to his feet, laid a hand on Arod’s neck, and together they walked back toward the camp.

He was still wondering if madness could be the only possible explanation for any of this when Aragorn pulled him down and wrapped the blanket over both of them, his hands working at the ties of the elf’s clothes. Then Aragorn’s hands were on his bare skin, pulling their bodies together, and he ceased to wonder anymore, for it no longer mattered; if he had gone mad, it was bliss and he hoped it lasted forever.

 

Aragorn leaned on the railing of the balcony overlooking one of the many gardens that had flourished in corners of Minas Tirith under the care of Legolas and the other elves who had come to help restore the city. Legolas stood beside him, looking down at the little dark-haired boy who was currently sneaking up on his mother with a handful of crickets while she read her book.

“He is a very ill-behaved child, for a future king,” Aragorn said, chuckling.

“Elrond said the same thing about you. Many times,” Legolas pointed out.

Aragorn grinned. “I turned out all right.”

“That is highly debatable.”

The little boy, treading carefully, was only a few steps from his mother now, and intent upon his task. Legolas glanced over at Aragorn.

“As your chief advisor, I strongly suggest that you warn your wife before she finds herself with a dress full of crickets.”

Aragorn shrugged. “How often do I take your advice?”

“Hmm,” Legolas said thoughtfully, smiling. “It seems that you were quite happy to do anything I suggested last night.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see as how I had much of a choice, under the circumstances.”

“Nobody forced you to let me tie you to the bed, you know. Now, I must say…”

He was interrupted by a squeal from below; however, it was the boy, not Arwen, who was protesting. Arwen had apparently spotted him at the last moment and had swept him up in her arms, scattering the crickets and ruining his plan. He kicked and wailed, and she laughed and set him down on his feet, watching with amusement as he ran off behind the bushes in a huff. Arwen shook her head, then turned and looked up at the balcony.

“You weren’t going to tell me I was about to be attacked?” she called up.

“I was seriously considering it,” Aragorn said.

“My Queen, I must respectfully inform you that your husband is a terrible liar and did not even consider it for a moment,” Legolas said. “In fact, he was greatly looking forward to seeing the carnage.”

“Was he,” she said, laughing.

“The elf merely wants to make you angry with me in the hope that I’ll spend the evening in his company instead.”

Arwen shook her head. “Oh, no. Not tonight. I have plans for you tonight, my dear.”

Legolas shrugged. “You can hardly blame me for trying, can you?”

Arwen chuckled and went off among the bushes, looking for her pouting child. Aragorn tried to give Legolas a sharp look, but failed. The elf laughed and, glancing around to make sure no one would see it, pulled the man close for a swift kiss.

“I seem to be a very unfortunate man,” Aragorn said, shaking his head. “My wife and my chief advisor conspire against me.”

“You are indeed a very unfortunate man,” Legolas agreed. “You have two lovers, and both of them are smarter than you.”

Aragorn scowled. “Now, wait a moment. I don’t appreciate that.”

Legolas grinned over his shoulder as he walked away. “You weren’t supposed to.”

“You’ll pay for that tomorrow night.”

“Is that a threat?”

“That, my friend, is a promise.”


End file.
